


The Lover's Portrait, Of Whom His Friend Was Fondest

by hellhoundtheory



Series: Leaves of Grass [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundtheory/pseuds/hellhoundtheory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint recommends that his student asks another of his students to strip. For art. <br/>Pepper and Sam attempt a coup of Darcy's reign, but find their path blocked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lover's Portrait, Of Whom His Friend Was Fondest

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Walt Whitman’s Calamus-Leaves
> 
> Schedule:  
> AP English (Tony's story takes place earlier on this day).   
> Study  
> AP Art/AP Psychology for Bucky  
> AP Calculus  
> AP Bio/Lunch  
> Health  
> AP French/Russian for Bucky

Clint is cornered by Sam just before AP Studio Art. The art teacher, of course, thinks that Sam saw another red-tailed hawk, since there had been one the week before and they shared a love of ornithology. 

But his friend instead crowded him against the wall and hissed, “You had better not be helping Darcy with her crazy scheme.”

“So what if I am?” Clint barks back, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

“I’ll revoke falcon privileges.” Sam was a falconer with a falcon named Riley (after an Air Force buddy, Sam had said) and he was teaching Clint how to use them to hunt. It was a magnificent bird to be able to bond with and Clint felt honored every weekend when he’d get to see it for more training. 

But Clint wasn’t fazed by the threat, and he knew that he couldn’t see Steve draw another damn picture of Bucky and stare at it as if it wasn’t quite right, “I’ll revoke dog privileges.” 

“You’d revoke pizza dog? Come on, man,” Sam whines, stepping back. Clint shrugs.

“I guess we’re at an impasse then.”

“I guess so,” Sam trails off as Clint walks to his class, shoulders squared and gait calculated to be menacing, his entire posture screaming ‘back off.’ 

Since Sam didn’t want his dog petting time disrupted, he’d move onto the next threat. Pepper was currently taking care of Tony, though his plan registered as a low-level threat to Sam, she insisted that he was far too determined and needed to be stopped.

Sam, not being a masochist, doesn’t mention to the lady in question that she was probably just trying to spend time with Tony. Mostly because, though he was technically ex-military, he wasn’t really prepared to deal with the kind of revenge she could enact for such a comment.

~  
Pepper approached Coulson’s office with her best smile on and two tickets to see a ballet she knew his cellist girlfriend loved in her hand. The head of the English department had been out for the last few staff meetings due to said girlfriend’s issues with a crazy fan who was stalking her, leading to Coulson needing to drive her to work for her safety. 

Phil took the tickets with a smile that automatically faded when he saw her grin. He pushed them back across his desk at her, “What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing. I just heard that Tony wanted to add Whitman to his curriculum.”

“He can teach whatever he wants so long as it helps his students prepare for the AP Literature exam. Whitman is a great literary poet who will help broaden the student’s view of literature.”

The answer would have been textbook if Pepper hadn’t spotted Phil’s first edition of ‘Leaves of Grass,’ on the shelf behind him, carefully tended and nary a page was dog-eared or a plastic bookmark touched its vellum pages. 

Clearly she had miscalculated on this one. “Keep the tickets. I just thought you ought to know that Whitman’s work is being used to further Tony’s absurd scheme to push Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes together.”

Coulson licked his lips, “Yes, uh, I was made aware of that. But that’s not the sort of request I can deny, and I can’t be there to keep him from teaching it because of Audrey’s little problem.” He had sent out a memo saying that he would be missing first period for a few weeks, but he and Pepper were especial friends. One day after a particularly difficult week, in a fit of rage and disgust, he had confessed to the horror of seeing his significant other terrorized. Pepper would never capitalize on that to keep Tony from meddling, so she backed down.

“Of course. Enjoy your day and tell Audrey I hope she feels better.”

~  
Clint arrives in class to see Steve already seated and working on an acrylic piece he called ‘Captain America’ that was a pop-art pseudo-propaganda WWII-type poster about this Captain America character who ‘socked Hitler and traditional family values in the jaw.’ The character wore a pink triangle. 

It was so very _Watchmen_ and so different from Steve’s usual black and white sketches that Clint didn’t really want to disrupt his artistic flow. So he waited until near the end of class to have Steve come up to his desk for a ‘progress check,’ which was something he frequently did as this was a very independent art class and he didn’t like to interrupt them while they were brainstorming or even while they were drawing. 

“How’s Cap going?” He asked, peeking at the piece now carefully placed on the AP art drying rack. 

“Good. I think I just need to refine the shading and add some black lines to make it a little more cartoon-y.”

Clint hesitates before pulling up a few images on his computer of the typical era posters the kid was trying to mimic, tilting the monitor so Steve could see, “If you want it to look like the propaganda posters I might skip the black lines, but that’s just me.”

Steve nods, “I’ll think about it.” Clint flips through his sketchbook—his students’ daily homework was to do at least _something_ artistic at home. The kids who liked to paint worked on potential color palettes, graphic design kids did something clever with photoshop, et cetera. For Steve, a lot of them were sketches of a run-down apartment or a messy head of brown hair ducked over homework or a pair of very distinguishable lips pulled in a smile or pout.

“Have any idea what you want to do next?” 

The kid shrugs, “I was toying with the idea of doing more political stuff. But I might want to take a break and go back to something I’m more used to so that I don’t let those skills weaken while working on this stuff.”

“Well, you need more stuff for the Breadth section, right? How about some traditional figure art. It would help your anatomy, especially if you have a friend pose for you.” 

Steve’s eyebrows go up and Clint worries that he’s overplayed his hand, “Uh, thanks. I might just use internet resources, but, you know, that’s a good idea.”

 _That’s not what I meant, kid. Jesus Christ, I’m giving you an excuse to talk to your crush, take it!_ Steeling himself for an awkward conversation, Clint takes Steve’s sketchbook from where it sits between them on the table, pointing to the ones he knows are of Bucky, “Look at these. From memory, right?” 

“Uh, yeah. Imagination, internet resources. That _Constructive Anatomy_ book you recommended.”

“Please, like I don’t know whose eyes those are. If you just ask him to pose for you, he’ll be flattered and you’ll be the most experienced figure drawing artist when you have to draw from real life in college. You do want to go to school for this, right?” Steve nods vigorously. 

“Then I had better see a school appropriate figure drawing within a week. Which is not to say that the original has to be school appropriate because all artists need practice with that. You can work on brainstorming another piece for your concentration in class. Your theme is human rights, right?”

“Yeah. Bucky was telling me about some stuff he learned in Russian class and I was thinking about doing a sort of subverted McCarthyism piece. Lots of red and monochromatic play.”

“That sounds great, Steve. You’re well on your way to a five.” The kid grins and races out of there as the bell rings. Clint lets out a breath and leans back in his chair.

_Please dear god I hope they don’t have sex while doing this or I will never be able to grade anything again without rubber gloves._

~  
Steve caught Bucky on his way from AP Psychology with Sitwell, glad that they had a pretty long hallway break between classes to chat and go to the bathroom and such. They make their way to AP Calc (a class that they are both currently regretting taking given their class-loads), and Steve clears his throat nervously. Bucky slings an arm across his shoulders and looks him up and down, “What’s got you looking like you’re about to pee yourself?”

Steve splutters, “Uh, my art teacher asked…”

“Yeah?” Bucky prompts curiously, biting into that plump bottom lip and drawing Steve’s gaze there. His mind goes blank for a moment. “Steve?”

“Bartonaskedmetotrytodoafiguredrawingfromalivemodel.” Steve covers his mouth after he realizes just how _fast_ that came out. 

Bucky stares at him blankly, “Come again?”

He feels heat crawl up his cheeks and takes a deep breath, “Barton thinks I need to work with a live model for figure drawing. And you’re really the only person I can ask…” 

His friend screws up his eyes, almost confused, before answering, “Of course, man. Anything for your art. You’re gonna be famous one day and little old me’s gonna be one of your primitive pieces. This weekend?”

_Wow, that was actually pretty easy._

Steve laughs off the compliment and feels the red slowly drain from his face. The worst part was over. Well, until actually drawing the thing, “You gonna hold still long enough?”

“Gotta give me proper motivation,” Bucky grins. 

A flood of images that would _not_ be motivation for either of them tumble over the wall Steve usually places in his mind when it comes to Bucky. While Bucky was never particularly popular, he was handsome and he always had some girl or another on his arm, though hardly in a long-term relationship sense. The things Steve kept thinking of, that had haunted Steve since puberty hit, they would shock and horrify Bucky. He just wasn’t that way. 

It’s one thing to analyze the blatant homosexuality in a piece of poetry or prose. It was entirely another to find out that your best friend thought of you in the shower when he touched himself and that the thought of Bucky’s strong hands on his hips made his breath hitch and white splatter over the tile.

 _Two very different things,_ Steve thought uncomfortably as he tried to apply himself to derivatives. 

~  
Sam and Pepper reconvene in the main office for a strategizing lunch, knowing that Darcy hardly ever set foot there. She was young enough that she still saw the office as a place people go when they are in trouble, and not an opportunity for some peace and quiet. 

“I couldn’t get Coulson to change Tony’s curriculum. Not with everything that’s going on in his life right now,” Pepper pouts into her salad, stabbing at a crouton to no avail. 

“Clint’s dog is way too important to my mental health, man. I ain’t messing with that.” Most would think Sam was joking, but Pepper knew that the unbridled affection of a dog was very important to Sam after something (at work, Clint was probably the only person that knew what that something was) happened in combat and he left the Air Force. 

“He threatened to not let you pet Lucky?” Pepper’s horror matches his own, but Sam doesn’t want to villainize Clint just because he’s the enemy right now. 

“After I threatened to take away Riley privileges.”

Pepper lets out another sigh. That was fair. She tries to put a positive spin on it, more for her benefit than Sam’s, “We just need to stop Bruce, Jacques, Natasha, and Darcy. Right? That shouldn’t be so hard.”

“I listened in on Bruce’s AP Bio class, he was still finishing up plant anatomy. He won’t do humans until tomorrow at least.”

“I highly doubt that newfangled information about the vas deferens is going to push those boys over the edge.” 

He hesitates to say that definitively, “I don’t know... After Clint and Tony, it might just be enough for them to get the hint.” Tony had already been teaching Whitman since his class on Thursday, though he only mentioned the themes earlier that day. No doubt forcing Steve or Bucky to analyze some lewd lines of poetry. 

Pepper purses her lips, trying to think of a way to get to the others, “I do have my grandmother’s orange tea recipe. Bruce has been coveting that. And he doesn’t seem all that invested.”

“I have some Chateau Pavie red. I could bribe Dernier.” Sam regrets the words before they come out of his mouth, and even more after. Pepper huffs a sigh and puts a hand on her forehead, as if massaging away a headache. 

“Why is this coming down to us giving up things to prevent our coworkers from scaring the shit out of those boys?”

“I don’t know man,” Sam says, munching on a carrot stick, “I don’t know.”

~  
Steve races around his house nervously as his mother prepares for her shift. 

“What’s got you all in a tizzy?” She asks as she finally finds her cardigan and puts it on. 

“Nothing. Bucky’s helping me with some art stuff and I’m trying to figure out what I want to do.” Steve says that even though the words racing through his head are _Oh my god I don’t know how to pose him should I draw one that’s not school appropriate and then practice fabric by putting a sheet on it and why am I contemplating drawing my friend’s dick oh right because I’m ever so helplessly in love with him. I hate my art teacher this is a terrible idea dear lord._

“Is he posing for you?” Sarah Rogers asks in her best I’m-not-your-mom-I’m-your-friend-now-tell-me-your-secrets voice. Steve hasn’t been fooled by that in a while and he grabs her keys for her and pushes her out the door, saying that he’d pick up the groceries after he finished and his mother might or might not say something entirely inappropriate that he should completely have expected and still totally didn’t.

Having a mother who was so comfortable with the human body and all of its grossness was not something Steve appreciated, except when he was sick. Then he definitely appreciated it.

Bucky doesn’t press the buzzer so Steve is utterly unprepared for the knock on the apartment door. He opens it, hair pulled into a frazzled mess from stressed hands with nowhere to go and eyes wide with shock.

“Uh, hey,” he gulps.

Bucky seems to take him in, eyes scanning over Steve’s mussed hair and stress bitten lips, taking a deep breath before explaining, “Saw your mom on the way in, she let me in.” 

“Oh. That’s good. Uhm.” Steve is a little speechless, having never done _this_ before. He lets Bucky in and closes the door behind him after glancing down the empty hallway with suspicion, as if the people still sleeping soundly from their Friday night activities cared what two teenagers did in the Rogers’ apartment. He motioned for Bucky to follow him to his room, which felt just a little creepy but he was ignoring the feeling. He was pro at ignoring feelings. 

Steve had thrifted a chaise for his room a while ago, mostly because he liked to practice drawing the tufts and intricate pattern of roses framed in sky blue and because it was nice to sit down and draw in the peace and quiet of his room without making his bed into a place for something other than sleeping, which led to sleepless nights and illness. 

The moment they got into his room and Bucky saw the windows thrown open and lights shining down on the chaise, he started stripping, shirt coming off too quickly for Steve to follow and hands already tugging at his belt before Steve can even ask if Bucky needs anything.

“Uh, do you want water or something?”

“Nah, then I’ll have to pee and I’ll mess you up.” And Bucky doesn’t even bother stripping down to his boxers first, he just pulls them down with his pants and steps out of them, asking, all business, “How do you want me?”

Steve has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from swearing. “Just a pose that’s comfortable for you. Maybe something with your neck on the top of that so that I get a side profile, yeah, just like that.” Bucky’s left foot rests on his right calf and his left leg is bent, knee up and arm resting on it as if he were just sitting on the couch and his _everything_ wasn’t exposed. The long line of his neck is stretched out over the back roll of the chaise and his lips are parted in a way that begs to be drawn. Steve cautiously adjusts his easel to painting landscape rather than portrait. 

They don’t mention covering Bucky’s more private parts. There’s a sheet there and Bucky ignores it in favor of going so blessedly commando—a look Steve hadn’t seen from him in years—which forces Steve to ignore the heat in his belly and the strain of his dick against the seam of his pants. 

_I fucking hate Barton,_ he thinks a few hours later as he fills in the spot between Bucky’s legs, detailing the head of his friend’s penis with angry, tiny strokes of his pencil. 

Bucky gets dressed and they hang out in the living room silently watching shitty reality TV and make lunch together. Steve tries not to think about his best friend’s dick and Bucky tries not to think about the hungry look in his best friend’s eyes.

“So, do I get to see it?”

Steve has a plan to go back and fix quite a few things, but he shrugs and lets Bucky see it anyways. A bright, hopeful part of him wants Bucky to see it, to see the care and love in the shading on his clavicle and the tenderness etched in the dark hairs on his toes and even the tiny feather marks of his eyelashes. He wants Bucky to see it and turn to Steve breathlessly with stars in his eyes and a promise on his lips that he would press into Steve’s.

Instead Bucky nods, huffing a breath and complimenting it as if he weren’t the one pictured in it with care, saying that he had to go back home and drop his sister off at the mall.

Steve watches him go and then takes an eraser to Bucky’s hip and middle, putting a sheet where he had lovingly detailed the indent of his best friend’s hips just an hour ago.

It’s one of his best pieces of work. All except the damn sheet. 

On Monday, Barton says it’s the best piece he has and that he should use it to as the basis for a painting for the Quality portion of his AP portfolio. He shakes his head and says that it should be part of Breadth, that he had a better painting in mind for Quality. 

He doesn’t, but Barton nods and accepts the lie regardless.


End file.
